


I'm Your National Anthem

by Sheepie



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Harassment, M/M, Porn Star AU, Smut, Stalking, everyone is a civilian, merlin and harry are an old married couple, obsessive fans, pornstar!Whiskey, protective!whiskey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepie/pseuds/Sheepie
Summary: Eggsy never dreamed of meeting one of his favorite porn stars, let alone starting a relationship with him. But when Eggsy meets Whiskey one night while working, he can't help but jump at the opportunity to go home with him. One starts as a one night stand, turns into something so much more profound. Eggsy's pretty sure he's found the person he's supposed to be with for the rest of his life, and Whiskey's made it clear he feels the same way.The only problem?An obsessive fan has decided they don't want Eggsy and Whiskey together. When Eggsy finds himself facing harassment, both online and in person, he starts to wonder if this relationship is worth all the hassle. He loves Whiskey, but is their love really worth his life?





	I'm Your National Anthem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1prissnhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1prissnhere/gifts).



> Self-betaed and not brit-picked

           Exhaustion dragged at Eggsy’s limbs and it was only halfway through his shift. He might as well have had lead weights strapped to his arms and legs. Usually he could handle the late shifts, but last night had come down to going to bed at a decent time or finishing his paper—the paper had won. He’d managed to squeeze in a power nap between classes, but all it did was make him sleepier.

He could hear Harry scolding him now, reminding him that a proper sleep schedule was the best way to success.

Eggsy collected the empty beer bottles littering the tables. The normal roar of people was amplified by the raucous laughter of a bachelorette party that was in full swing. One of the girls slumped against her friend and grinned salaciously at Eggsy. He flashed her his trade mark smile and hurried back to the bar.

He didn’t _need_ to be doing this. Harry and Merlin made it perfectly clear they’d be happy to pay for his rent (Harry made sure to offer every Sunday supper when he went home), but seeing as how they’d already covered his university fees, he didn’t want to burden them with the rest of his debt.

Roxy told him he was stubbornly prideful. Jamal called him stupid. The way Eggsy saw it, he couldn’t rely on his parents forever, and at twenty-four he needed to be making his own way in life.

Eggsy dropped the empty bottles into the trashcan behind the bar and collected the empty glasses lining the bar top. He nodded to one of the regulars, a plump man that hunkered at the end of the bar on a squeaky bar stool and nursed a pint of their cheapest draft. It was piss water, by look and taste, but the man usually put away three before he called it a night and wobbled out the front door.

“Can I get a Long Island?” A brunette asked, collapsing into the bar with a hiccup and giggle. From the glazed look in her eyes and the drop of her eyelids, she’d already had two shots too many.

“Sure luv,” Eggsy said and fixed her a much weaker version of the mixed drink, heavy on the coke. “There you go.”

“You should join us,” She said, accepting the drink.

“Maybe later,” Eggsy said and winked. “You got a tab?”

“Tina,” She slurred. “You sure? We could go out back.”

“Go have fun with your friends,” Eggsy said.

Tina pouted, or at least she tried to, but really it looked like she’d started to suck on a whole lemon, and returned to her party. Eggsy slapped the towel on the bar and wiped up some of the spillage from her drink.

Eggsy kept on his feet, pouring drinks and mopping up messes. He wondered if this was what it felt like for Harry when he was a toddler, constantly running behind him to make sure he didn’t throw up his juice on his own damn shoes. His feet ached from racing back and forth and his head throbbed from a combination of the pulsing music pouring from the jukebox and the noxious fumes from the fog machine.

The blue haze of smoke rolling along the dance floor suffocated Eggsy as much as the coalescing bodies and swirling lights that pierced the otherwise dark bar. He needed fresh air, but he held sentinel behind the bar, pouring drinks with a waning smile.

He poured top shelf whiskey into a glass of ice as he watched an American with an impressively thick mustache out of the corner of his eye try to pick up a pretty blonde. The blonde woman watched the American with disinterest. When he finished talking, she air swiped to the left. The man, whose profile was actually not half bad, followed her finger as she continued to swipe.

“What’s this? Is this a game?” The American asked, honest confusion lighting his expression. Eggsy bit back a private, sympathetic smile. The man was clearly twenty or more years this woman’s elder. He’d probably never heard of Tinder, let alone understood the mechanics of app dating.

“Follow my finger sweetie,” The woman said and swiped again. “I’m swiping left.”

When the man didn’t follow, Eggsy decided to throw him a bone. He topped the whiskey off with coke and brought it over to the woman. “It’s Tinder guv,” Eggsy said to the American as he passed the woman her drink. “Here you are luv. On the house.”

She winked and left, leaving behind the American who shook his head and turned to the bar. Eggsy didn’t know why she turned him down—maybe it was his accent—because he wasn’t bad looking. The opposite, in fact. Christ, he was a tall dark glass of sex. Broad shouldered, sharp cheek bones, and a pair eyes deep enough to make the Mariana trench look like a kiddy pool. There was also something oddly familiar about him, like Eggsy had seen him before—which was always possible, seeing as how there were plenty of people that came through his bar.

“Here, let me get you a drink,” Eggsy said and fixed the American a shot.

“What the hell is Tinder?” The American asked.

Eggsy didn’t try to hide his sympathetic smile this time. He handed the guy his shot. “It’s an app.”

“I’m guessing swiping to the left is bad?”

Eggsy nodded.

The American threw back his drink like a champ and Eggsy poured him another. “I don’t know why I’m even here. I let that idiot talk me into this,” The American said and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Eggsy looked around him to where another louder, much younger American had wandered over to the bachelorette party. He didn’t seem to be having any issues with picking someone up for the night.

“Her loss,” Eggsy said. “You blokes on holiday or something?”

“No. Work—I just moved, actually,” The man said.

“Oh? What do you do?” Eggsy asked.

He caught someone signaling for him and quickly rushed over to take the order before returning to the American. An urgency pulsed in him as he fixed drinks, always gravitating back to where the American stood, like there was a chord tethering their bodies together. He could feel the man’s gaze on him, watching him as he moved around the bar, and the intensity of his stare burned through Eggsy, sending a rush of heat up his neck.

“Entertainment,” The American said when Eggsy returned. If he was still upset about being shot down, it didn’t show. He smiled easily at Eggsy. Eggsy’s stomach flipped at the flash of teeth and dimples.

Eggsy narrowed his eyes, and after a heartbeat it clicked where he recognized the American. “Holy shite bruv, you’re Whiskey, aren’t you?”

“Watched my videos, have you?” Whiskey asked with a bark of laughter.

“Once or twice,” Eggsy admitted unabashedly. “I’ve got to say, the one where you fuck the McDonald’s worker over the counter was a work of art.” He made a jerking motion with his hand. “Got to love that secret sauce.”

Whiskey leaned against the bar, his dimpled grin growing. Eggsy tracked his movements, conscious of the way the flannel shirt he wore shifted against his broad shoulders. That bird really had missed out even she passed up Whiskey. The man was a legend in the porn industry, and a man Eggsy had fantasized about many nights.

He’d seen Whiskey naked so many times he could describe his body in painstaking detail. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“Well I’m at a bit of a loss here. You know my name, sweetheart, but I don’t know yours,” Whiskey said, raising one of his eyebrows.

“Gary,” Eggsy said, holding his hand out. “Gary Unwin, but everyone calls me Eggsy.”

Whiskey accepted Eggsy’s hand, his palm rough with callouses. Eggsy licked his lips, his mouth overflowing with saliva. Fuck, how would those hands feel holding his hips?

“Eggsy?” He asked.

“Nickname, innit? Kind of like Whiskey—that can’t be your real name.”

“It’s Jack Daniels, actually.” He said it with a straight face.

“You’re shitting me.”

Whiskey squeezed Eggsy’s hand one last time before letting go, and Eggsy immediately missed the contact.

“Afraid not.” Whiskey grinned. “So where do you get a nickname like Eggsy?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Just always been called it,” Eggsy admitted. As long as he could remember, it had always been Eggsy unless he was in trouble.

Another patron signaled for Eggsy. He didn’t want to leave Whiskey, but he could see a crowd building as drunk customers lined up for more shots and pints. “Give me just one second,” Eggsy said, holding a finger up. Whiskey nodded and folded his arms on the bar top.

Eggsy hurried over to the waiting customers. The hairs on the bac of his neck stood as he moved around the bar, twisting and pivoting as he fetched glasses and bottles. Occasionally he looked up from pouring a drink and his gaze caught Whiskey’s. A wildfire grew in his belly, ready to lose control.

Whiskey smiled wryly at him. Eggsy swore he knew what he was doing—how couldn’t he when he was fucking sex on legs? All he had to do was tip his head in acknowledgement and Eggsy ached for another touch.

By the time he finished fixing the last drink, Brandon arrived for his shift. Eggsy tossed him the towel on his shoulder and stated he was going on break.

Eggsy tipped his head towards the hall that lead to the back. “I’m going out back for a smoke. Care to join me?”

Whiskey downed the last of his drink. “Lead the way.”

Eggsy headed to the alley in the back. As soon as he pushed the door open, a blast of cool autumn air hit his face and cooled the sweat beading on his forehead. He padded his back pocket for his pack of smokes and shook out a cigarette. Whiskey stepped around him, half his body swathed in shadows. Eggsy offered a cigarette and Whiskey plucked it from the pack with two long fingers.

The way his digits curled around the cigarette made Eggsy’s insides clench, wondering how they would feel buried deep inside him. He’d seen Whiskey work—was he like that in real life? Was he just as equally unchained and wild or was he tender and sweet?

“Got a light?” Whiskey asked.

Eggsy withdrew his Zippo. In a single, fluid movement he flipped the lid and struck the lighter against his thigh, rolling the starter. A flame leapt to life and he held it out for Whiskey.

Whiskey cupped his hand around the flickering fire and kissed the tip of his cigarette to the flame. He held Eggsy’s gaze as he lit his cigarette, a warm glow of red brightening his face. Eggsy swallowed compulsively, a marrow-deep want consuming him. Whiskey drew a long drag from his cigarette and let the smoke leak from his lips.

Beyond the heavy metal door of the back, Eggsy could hear the thud of music. Darkness filled the alleyway, shielding them from anyone that walked by. It was just them and the smoke curling from Whiskey’s lips.

Eggsy snapped the lighter closed. Whiskey wordlessly raised his eyebrows as Eggsy shoved his crumpled pack of smokes and lighter back into his pockets.

He grabbed Whiskey by the front of his shirt, curling his fingers into fists in the soft flannel, and hauled him close. Whiskey grinned, a feral flash of teeth, and walked Eggsy backwards until his back scraped against the greasy brick. Whiskey leaned over him, one arm pressed above Eggsy’s head, and took another long smoke.

Eggsy couldn’t tell if the cloud that swirled between them was his breath or the smoke. Even though his skin prickled from the chill, all he could feel was the heat radiating off Whiskey as he covered his body over Eggsy’s.

There was a moment—not even a handful of seconds—when all they did was stare at one another. Whiskey’s eyes bore into Eggsy; pierced the veil of smoke, flayed open his soul, and found a piece of him that yearned for _something_ —something grand and cosmic and infinite.

Whiskey’s mouth was against his. He tasted of nicotine and whiskey. He tasted of desperation and need and the possibility of not being alone. Eggsy clung, holding him close, kissing him like Whiskey was the last man alive, like he was praying and Whiskey was his salvation.

His back dragged against the brick as Whiskey dropped the cigarette and grabbed onto his hips with both his hands. He notched his thigh between Eggsy’s legs, a solid stretch of muscle that Eggsy ground against.

Eggsy grabbed onto Whiskey’s shoulder and rolled his hip against his thigh. Whiskey nosed his way down Eggsy’s jaw, leaving small bites in his wake. Eggsy shuddered, desperation building in his belly. Whiskey pressed his mouth against his ear and growled, a rumbling crass sound that shot straight to Eggsy’s dick.

“Look at you, working against me. Can you come like this, sweetheart?”

Eggsy could. Christ, he could mess his jeans right here with just Whiskey talking to him in that rough voice. But he didn’t want to come like this.

“I want to find out if it’s true what they say about America,” Eggsy panted.

“And what’s that?” Whiskey asked, digging his leg up so Eggsy got more pressure.

A moan escaped Eggsy, a long lewd sound that echoed in the dark. He leaned his head back, swallowing thickly. “That everything is bigger.”

Whiskey chuckled. “Corazón, you don’t have to worry about that. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before Eggsy could comment, the door banged open and someone stumbled out. The man fell against the wall a few feet from them and puked all over his shoes. Eggsy grimaced and said, “I should get back and help Brandon.”

“When are you off?”

“Two,” Eggsy said.

“Come back with me,” Whiskey said, still rocking his thigh against Eggsy.

“Yeah,” Eggsy gasped, clinging to him. “Yeah, okay.”

Whiskey leaned in for another kiss, but stopped when the man beside them groaned. Eggsy grimaced. Whiskey let him go and stepped back. Eggsy sighed—back to the grind stone.

* * * *

Whiskey kept Eggsy company for the rest of the evening. While there weren’t many lulls for Eggsy to fully focus on Whiskey, that didn’t deter the other man, who seemed content to watch him work and sip the glass of whiskey Eggsy kept filled. The moments there weren’t customers swarming the bar, Eggsy leaned against the counter and chatted happily with Whiskey, discussing everything from what it was like to be in the porn industry to some of the worst customers Eggsy encountered.

The fire that started in the alley simmered beneath the surface of Eggsy’s skin as he finished out the last two hours of his shift. Every look from Whiskey, every brush of fingertips and quirks of his mouth, tipped Eggsy closer to the boiling point.

He’d had one-night stands before, quick fumbles in the bathroom, and cheap dates that ended with sloppy sex and promise of calling in the morning, even though neither of them intended to follow through. None of them had ever felt this intense, like there was a star growing inside Eggsy, and every part of him, from the marrow of his bones, to the fibers of soul, were ready to erupt. Even while he was busy mixing drinks, he was conscious of Whiskey watching him, and he’d never been so thirsty for a person.

Whiskey’s companion found him at some point, a girl hanging off his arm. He said goodbye and left, cradling the woman close and whispering in her ear. It took Eggsy a moment to realize the man was Tequila, another one of the actors with Whiskey’s company.

When last call was finally made, Eggsy couldn’t have been more grateful. He fumbled his way through cleaning, until Brandon finally took pity on him and said he could leave early. Eggsy almost stayed, feeling guilty for leaving him to clean the mess himself, but then Whiskey tipped his head and Eggsy forgot all about it.

He followed Whiskey back to his place, deciding it was better to go there than his own flat, which he shared with two other roommates. Whiskey lived in a one bedroom flat in Soho, West London. Eggsy thought there’d be an American flag displayed somewhere (Americans really loved their flag, right?), but other than a pair of cowboy boots parked near the front door, the place looked like any other chic London flat.

No sooner they were through the door, Whiskey pressed him against a nearby wall and devoured his mouth. His mustache rubbed against his sin, leaving behind a satisfying burn.

Eggsy was vaguely aware of the door slamming shut. He looped his arms around Whiskey’s neck, burying his fingers into his hair, and hauled him closer, until their chests were molded together. He hitched a leg around Whiskey’s waist, his cock pressed into his pelvis.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself?” Whiskey cooed into Eggsy’s ear. The rough cadence ran down Eggsy’s spine in a rolling shiver, that started at the top of his head, and ended at his throbbing dick.

“Good thing you don’t have to any longer,” Eggsy said. He punctuated the statement with the rough drag of his teeth along the curve of Whiskey’s neck, finding his fluttering pulse. He pressed his tongue to the pulse and sealed his mouth around it with a firm suck. Eggsy was rewarded with an animalistic moan wrenched deep from Whiskey’s gut.

Whiskey roughly grabbed Eggsy by the neck and pulled him back. Eggsy grinned up at him, still able to taste the salt of his skin on his tongue.

“The things I’m going to do to you,” Whiskey said and rocked into Eggsy’s hips.

“Yeah? What are you going to do?” Eggsy challenged. He tightened his leg, hugging him closer until he felt his prominent bulge pressed against his own.

Whiskey nuzzled the side of Eggsy’s head, his breath ghosting down Eggsy’s cheek, and growled. The bearish sound made something wild and primal quiver inside Eggsy. He almost came right there, rocking against Whiskey like a teenager fumbling his way through his first make out session.

“For starters, I’m going to fill that smart mouth of yours with my cock,” Whiskey said. He traced a finger down the sharp line of Eggsy’s jaw. “Make you take it all.”

“Yeah, yeah fuck my mouth,” Eggsy said, downright panted as he clung to Whiskey. “Want to taste you.”

“I know sweetheart, and I’m going to make sure you’re well taken care of,” Whiskey promised. He took Eggsy’s hands in his own and pinned them above his head. “I’m going to do such wicked things to you, Corazón. I’m going to make you _weep_ with need for me.”

“I don’t beg that easily,” Eggsy warned and grinned challengingly up at him.

A prideful glint sparked in Whiskey’s eyes, only making Eggsy want to push harder. “Oh, that’s what I’m hoping for,” Whiskey said, nosing his way along Eggsy’s jaw.

Eggsy shuddered. Christ, if Whiskey kept talking like that, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“When I’m through, you’ll be begging me to let you come.” Whiskey moaned, a lude sound that left Eggsy trembling and responding in kind. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, breath short and his heart a thunderclap against his ribs. “Yeah, I can be good. I can be really good for you.”

Abruptly Whiskey let go and Eggsy slumped against the wall, his legs suddenly boneless. It took a few seconds for Eggsy to realize Whiskey had walked away, moving into the kitchen that adjoined the open living room. Eggsy shakily lifted himself back up, his cock aching against his jeans.

“Decided it was time for a snack, bruv?” Eggsy asked.

Whiskey flashed him a secret smile, not answering as he opened the fridge and rooted around. Eggsy huffed, but took the opportunity to look around. Whiskey kept his flat clean. His tastes certainly did lean towards _big_ —large flat screen television, large sectional, and large four panel windows overlooking the district.

“Is that a fucking whip?” Eggsy asked, his gaze zeroing in on the whip framed on the wall.

“It is—the one I used in my first successful video,” Whiskey said. “ _The Magnificent Seven Inches_.”

“How do you say that with a straight face?” Eggsy looked at Whiskey, who just shrugged and held up a bottle of champagne.

“You get used to the puns,” Whiskey said. He nodded towards a short hall. “Come on.”

Eggsy followed him into the bed room, which was dominated by the king-size bed in the center of the room, framed by two windows. The curtains were open and the signs outside filled the room in shades of red and blue.

Whiskey set the chilled bottle of champagne on one of the nightstands and offered his hand to Eggsy.

Eggsy took his hand, backing Whiskey to the bed, until his knees gave with a smooth bend and he sat down on the edge of the mattress. Eggsy climbed onto his lap, his knees digging into bed, and said, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

Whiskey ran his hands down the curve of Eggsy’s spine, his exploring fingers finding the hem of Eggsy’s shirt. Eggsy lifted his arms and Whiskey pulled his shirt off.

“Christ, look at you,” Whiskey said, dragging his hands around to palm at Eggsy’s ribs.

He dipped his head down and sucked Eggsy’s left nipple between his teeth. Eggsy fisted his hands into Whiskey’s hair and held his head in place.

“Shite,” Eggsy hissed and arched into Whiskey’s touch. He flattened his tongue against the hard bud of Eggsy’s nipple, rolling it smoothly. Eggsy rolled his hips in time with the strokes of Whiskey’s tongue, his breathy moans getting higher with each undulation.

He’d always had sensitive nipples. The slightest brush could send a spark racing to his cock. The torture Whiskey was inflicting on him left him writhing, a wanton whore panting for more. Every pinch of his teeth and flick of his tongue was the equivalent of tinder striking kindling. Fire erupted in Eggsy’s belly.

Whiskey released Eggsy’s puffy nipple, blowing an agonizingly cool stream of air against it, before he reached around Eggsy for the bottle of champagne. Eggsy took the opportunity to catch his breath, his skin already prickling with sweat.

Whiskey pointed the bottle away from them and popped the cork. Eggsy jumped at the sharp release of air. The cork flew and landed somewhere in the corner of the room. Bubbles immediately frothed to the surface and spilled out of the bottle. Whiskey swung the bottle around and let the excess champagne flow onto Eggsy’s chest.

Eggsy yelped at the rush of cold champagne.

“Oi!” Eggsy shouted. His complaint fizzled into a rapturous moan when Whiskey returned to sucking on his nipples, lapping at the champagne covering Eggsy’s chest.

Eggsy took the bottle from Whiskey’s hand and took a long swig. The carbonation tickled his tongue, filling his head with bubbles.

“God, you taste so good,” Whiskey said. He took the bottle back and set it aside again. “Come on, let’s get you out of these jeans.”

“I was thinking that maybe you need to slip out of this shirt instead,” Eggsy said, already undoing the buttons of his flannels.

Whiskey took Eggsy’s hands into his, pushing them away from the buttons. Eggsy made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, which was most certainly not a whimper. “Jack.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll get there. But I want you naked and stretched on my bed first.”

Eggsy groaned, but slipped off Whiskey’s lap to strip out of his jeans and pants. Whiskey moved from the bed, pulling Eggsy back down so he could lounge across the comforter, cushioned by a stack of pillows.

Whiskey rewarded Eggsy by unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, revealing inch after inch of golden brown skin and an abdomen he could have washed laundry on. Whiskey picked up the champagne bottle again and climbed onto the bed, moving over Eggsy so he hovered above him.

He held the bottle to Eggsy’s lips and Eggsy took a sip. Whiskey smiled approvingly, and the fact that Eggsy had pleased him, sent something hot slithering through his veins.

“Look at you. You’d think you were always meant to be here,” Whiskey said. Eggsy reached for him, but he leaned out of the way with a tutting sound. “What did I say? You’re going to have to beg for it Mi Corazón.”

“Fuck,” Eggsy whispered.

Whiskey patted the side of Eggsy’s legs. “Lift them, sweetheart.”

Eggsy did as he was told, and Whiskey bent him at the waist, his feet brushing the wall. In this position he was fully exposed, his legs spread enough that he could feel a cool brush of air against his arsehole.

Eggsy couldn’t see what he was doing, his view obstructed by the bend of his waist, but it was only a few seconds of nothing, before something cold and wet dripped onto his balls and rolled down to his hole.

“Fuck!” Eggsy groaned, fisting his hands into the comforter.

“Do you think this would act sufficiently as lube?” Whiskey asked, pouring a little more onto Eggsy’s already tight bollocks. The shock of cold sent a shiver racing down his spine and made his balls draw close. It was a queer wet sensation that left Eggsy’s stomach spasming. “What if I just poured this over you and fucked you open?”

To punctuate the statement, Whiskey ran his tongue across Eggsy’s hole and along his perineum. The rub of his mustache coupled with the wet heat of his tongue left Eggsy’s skin twitching and made his hole clench.

“Oh Christ,” Eggsy cried out, bracing one hand against the wall. Whiskey repeated the action, licking Eggsy in broad strokes until every drop of champagne was cleaned away.

Whiskey poured a little more, dripping it down Eggsy’s balls so it flowed in the opposite direction, running in rivulets down his rock-hard cock, and pooled in his sternum. The muscles in Eggsy’s thighs cramped as he held his position, but the slight ache was dulled by the feel of Whiskey’s tongue. He dragged his mouth up to Eggsy’s bollocks and drew them into his mouth.

Eggsy choked on a guttural moan, helpless to do anything but lay there and let Whiskey ravish him. Whiskey alternated between each ball, adoring them with firm sucks and pulls, before releasing them with a wet pop. He hefted over Eggsy, setting the half-empty bottle of champagne down, and dug inside his nightstand drawer.

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” Eggsy complained as Whiskey pressed down on him.

“You’re going to be feeling my full weight soon, sweetheart.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Whiskey retrieved a bottle of lubricant and settled back between Eggsy’s thighs.

“You’re all mine tonight,” Whiskey said and flicked the lid of the cap. It opened with a click.

Desperate to stretch his legs, Eggsy slowly spread them wide, allowing the muscles to pull until his legs were opened wide in a full split. Whiskey cursed a blue streak.

“Look at you, such a pretty little thing,” Whiskey said.

“All those gymnastics lessons as a kid paid off,” Eggsy said. He was sure Harry would be positively delighted to know Eggsy was using those lessons he paid for to seduce his partner.

“Thank Christ for them,” Whiskey agreed and poured a dollop of cold lubricant onto Eggsy’s hole.

Eggsy hissed at the shock. Whiskey warmed it with a hot puff of breath. He rubbed two large digits along Eggsy’s hole, circling the tight ring in soothing strokes.

“You know bruv, you’re still a bit over dressed for this,” Eggsy said.

Whiskey responded with a toothy grin and the press of his fingers, breaching Eggsy’s entrance. Eggsy flopped his head back, his eyes fluttering closed as the thick fingers slid inside.

“Fuck,” Eggsy managed to choke out. “Jack, shit—move them. Fucking hell.”

“My name sounds good when you say it like that,” Whiskey said and nipped at Eggsy’s trembling thigh. “Say it again.”

Eggsy licked his lips and opened his eyes so he could look at him. Whiskey smiled at him in a way that sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach.

“Jack,” Eggsy repeated.

Whiskey rewarded him with a thrust of his fingers, pushing them deep inside until Eggsy thought he was reaching for his soul. Eggsy’s legs went limp, folding over Whiskey’s shoulders. He rolled his hips, seeking out more friction.

“Yeah,” Eggsy encouraged. “Like that—fuck, Jack.”

Whiskey pressed a line of kisses along the inside of his leg, nuzzling the bend of his knee as he continued to work his fingers into Eggsy. It was the deliciously satisfying burn of muscles that came from being stretched. When a third finger slipped in, Eggsy was positively wrecked, a sobbing mess sticky with sweat and champagne.

Whiskey found his prostate and pressed down on the walnut-sized bundle of nerves. Eggsy couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything but gasp and moan, his lungs filling with air as quickly as it was exhaled. Tears budded in the corners of his eyes.

He was close. Desperation curled at the base of his spine.

“Jack, Jack I’m going to come. Please—please, fuck—” He didn’t even know what he was asking for anymore. To come? For him to stop and fuck him?

Whiskey withdrew his fingers just as Eggsy’s vision began to spot. An emptiness immediately seized Eggsy and his hole clenched around air.

“Jack,” Eggsy wailed.

“Easy,” Whiskey said and rubbed Eggsy’s hip. “I got you.”

He set Eggsy’s legs on the bed and climbed off. Eggsy took the opportunity to calm his frayed nerves. He’d been a wave racing towards the cliff, only to suddenly be sucked backwards. He turned his head and watched Whiskey as he stood and stripped out of his clothes.

Eggsy had seen him dozens of times. Then, Whiskey had been a fantasy. He hadn’t been real. His body had been accentuated by stage lights and makeup. He hadn’t been real. Eggsy was familiar with the hard contours of Whiskey’s form, but here, in real life, and not on a computer monitor, it was like seeing Whiskey for the first time.

The blue advertisements outside softened Whiskey’s sharp features and cast him in a lambent glow that made him ethereal. He was Eggsy’s neon god, a modern revival, and Eggsy realized how helpless he was to him, how willing he was to drop to his knees and pray.

Whiskey’s pants dropped around his ankles and he stepped out of them, barefoot. His cock curved up, uncut and nestled in a bed of dark curls. Whiskey retrieved a condom from the nightstand and slid it on.

Eggsy reached out for him and Whiskey took his hand.

It was a bad idea. Eggsy knew it, because if they kept on, he didn’t know if he’d be able to walk away. There was something about Whiskey—he was a drug, and Eggsy had always had an addictive personality.

Whiskey covered Eggsy’s body with his own and kissed him. Eggsy slid his fingers through his hair, holding him close Whiskey’s mouth opened to him. He could feel the brush of his cock against his crack, and he hitched a leg up to hook around Whiskey’s waist.

Whiskey reached down and blindly aligned himself. It took a few tries, but his head finally caught on the lip of Eggsy’s entrance and he eased in.

Eggsy tipped his head back with a silent cry. Whiskey was thick, so much thicker than his three fingers.

Whiskey dragged his teeth along the exposed line of Eggsy’s throat and breathed harshly into his collarbone.

“Wait,” Eggsy said, the single word broken by a moan. Whiskey paused, trembling above Eggsy. “Let me—just, here, roll over.”

After a bit of maneuvering, some grumbling, and Eggsy accidently jabbing Whiskey with his elbow, Whiskey shifted around so his back was flushed with the wall and Eggsy was seated on his lap with his cock buried deep. Eggsy pressed his forehead to Whiskey’s and started to move.

Whiskey grabbed onto his hips with a bruising grip and guided the roll of Eggsy’s body. It was slower than before, unfrenzied by copious amounts of alcohol and a nearly pornographic desire to ruin each other. Whiskey pressed deep inside him until he could practically taste his cock.

What started wild and fast, a sticky mess of bubbling champagne and wandering hands, settled into a slow fuck filled with languid kisses and short breath. Whiskey pressed his mouth to Eggsy’s ear and whispered, “God, I want to keep you.”

Eggsy hugged him tighter, his tongue leaden in his mouth. The desperation returned, a cresting wave that came down in crash after crash.

“I’m going—I’m close,” Eggsy stuttered, trying to stave off the end as long as possible. Whiskey dug his fingers deeper into Eggsy’s flanks.

“Come on, come for me.”

He came hard, sputtering between their stomachs. He didn’t stop moving, even after he came, fucking himself onto Whiskey until he felt his fingers tighten. Whiskey dragged down onto his lap and came with a strained groan, his face buried into the curve of Eggsy’s neck.

Neither moved as they caught their breaths. Eggsy wrapped himself around Whiskey, vaguely aware of how his skin stuck to the other’s. He needed a shower desperately, but he didn’t have the strength in his legs to get up.

Whiskey nipped at his chin and jaw. “So,” He murmured. “Can I get your number?”

Eggsy laughed. “Yeah, yeah you can.”

“Good,” Whiskey said, grinning at Eggsy. “Because we’ll be doing this again, Corazón.”


End file.
